


Silence

by ZombieBabs



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Angry Sex, F/M, Light BDSM, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieBabs/pseuds/ZombieBabs
Summary: She can see in his eyes how much he wants. How he aches to touch, to taste. To break the silence.But Alex isn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not until she’s made her point.*Edited 10.04.17





	Silence

“Three months,” Alex says. She tugs at his belt, fumbling with the buckle.

“Three months,” she says again, forcing the words through her teeth as she finally gets it undone.

Strand’s fingers dig into her shoulders. He sways a little, his pupils blown wide. He swallows.

Alex pops the button on his slacks. She yanks at the zip and shoves his slacks down, where they get caught around his knees.

He’s already hard, already straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs. 

“Three _months_ ,” Alex repeats. Her hand darts out to cup him through his underwear.

He hisses and sways again.

“You could have called,” she continues. “You could have texted. But no. Three months of what?”

Strand doesn’t answer, although Alex can tell he wants to.

Still, she waits a beat. Testing him. Teasing him with barely there brushes of her fingertips.

“Exactly,” she says. “Silence.”

She grips him as much as the thin barrier of cotton will allow. Squeezes slightly. “Three months of _silence_.”

Strand bites back a moan.

She can see in his eyes how much he wants. How he aches to touch, to taste. To break the silence. 

But Alex isn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not until she’s made her point.

She grins, knows there is something nasty, something bitter in it, and shoves her hand past the elastic of his boxer briefs to take him in her hand, skin to heated skin.

The digging of his fingers is almost painful, before Strand realizes what he’s doing and forces himself to relax his grip.

But Alex doesn’t want that, either.

She swipes her thumb across the head of his cock and uses the pre-come beaded there to stroke him, hard and fast, twisting her wrist on the upstroke. 

Strand hisses again and Alex looks him straight in the eyes, daring him to make another noise.

He breathes hard, panting, choking down even the slightest of sounds. He holds onto her shoulders and lets his head hang, his eyes squeezed tight with the effort.

He’s close, she realizes. 

She blinks, surprised. Not sure what to make of it. He hasn’t been this easy to get off since they first started their little fling. On that day when she first ordered him to his knees, when she twisted her fingers in his hair and guided him just where she wanted him, where he could finally put his tongue to good use. After nearly two decades of self-imposed celibacy, she only needed to touch him, to stroke him once, twice, perhaps three times, before he’d come.

In the last three months, has he touched himself at all?

The answer is found in the trembling of his limbs, in the spasm of his fingers as he holds onto her shoulders, his hands straying no further than where she set them when they began.

Alex hadn’t given him permission to touch himself. And so he hadn’t.

Something about that thought sends a thrum of pleasure, of possession, through Alex. She presses her thighs together to ease some of the throbbing between her legs. 

Rather than reward him, however, Alex slows the movement of her hand with a wicked grin.

He nearly breaks. His hips buck, but he stills at Alex’s glare of warning. He opens his mouth, but all that escapes is a strangled, sobbing breath.

With her free hand, Alex tugs at the hair at the back of Strand’s neck, forcing him to look up. It’s not fair--she _knows_ what pulling his hair does to him--but then, she’s still not exactly feeling charitable towards him, either. No matter how turned on she is by the sight of him, by the desperate, aborted sounds of him.

His fingers dig deep and Alex gasps. She drags him down by the collar of his shirt, slotting her lips against his in a frantic, bruising kiss.

Alex licks and nibbles. Strand holds on, but he can do little more than meet the demanding sweep of her tongue and _breathe_.

Alex strokes him in earnest once more. She watches with satisfaction as he falls apart under her touch. His hands tremble and his breath is ragged. His hips buck, even as he tries his best to stay still, fucking desperately into her hand.

But still, Strand is silent.

Ignoring swell of pride within her, Alex surges up, kissing him. He pants against her mouth, all composure lost.

Alex grins into the kiss. She bites down on his lower lip and pulls at his hair. Hard.

Strand _whines_.

And freezes.

At first, Alex thinks he’s afraid she’ll stop, just as she promised--threatened--she would. But then he’s spilling into her hand with a muffled groan.

He lays his head in the spot between her neck and shoulder while she works him through the rest of his orgasm, until he’s spent and twitching with overstimulation. She pulls her hand from his ruined underwear, her fingers slick with the evidence of his climax.

“So good,” she says. “You did _so_ good.”

Strand shakes his head, still hiding his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“It’s okay. You can talk now.”

Strand presses close and doesn't answer. He trembles against her, whether with the aftershocks of his orgasm or something else entirely, Alex doesn't know.

Could she have pushed him too hard?

Alex tries to comfort him, running her hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Richard?”

He flinches at the sound of his name.

“Richard, talk to me.”

“Don’t,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “Don’t leave.”

Alex laughs, not out of mirth, but in surprise.

“Please,” he continues, misunderstanding. He pushes into her space, nearly knocking her over. “Don’t leave.”

Alex shushes him. “Hey. _Hey_. I’m pissed, alright? But I’m not going anywhere.”

When he doesn’t respond, Alex tugs playfully at the baby hairs at the back of his neck. Strand sighs and burrows further into her skin.

“I told you I love you and I meant it. I thought you felt the same way. I just wish you would have spoken to me before you got on a plane to Italy for three months. Because if you want to keep this thing between us just sex, we can keep it just sex. No pressure. No strings attached.”

Strand shakes his head again.

“No?” Alex asks, frowning.

She waits for him to gather his thoughts. Anxious, but trying not to show it. Not when he still expects her to take charge, to make things quiet for him.

But what if he wants to end it--their arrangement? What if he’s decided he no longer needs her in that role?

Maybe he’s moved on, after three months away. Maybe he just doesn’t want her anymore.

“I love you,” he says, at last. He drags himself away from her, enough so he can look her in the eyes. “I love you, too.”

Relief crashes into her. And then she’s raising her brows at him in confusion. “You do? And you ran off because?”

“I...haven’t loved anyone this way, not in decades. Not since Coralee. I thought you might have said it--” he blushes, his face tinged a delicate pink “--in the heat of the moment.”

All at once, Alex gets it. “You thought I was going to take it back. So you gave me a _reason_ to take it back.”

He looks away, giving Alex all the answer she needs.

Alex shakes her head with a smile. “See, if you had just _talked_ to me, neither of us would have spent the last three months in a blind panic.”

Strand blinks. “You--?”

“Well, yeah. What am I supposed to think when you jet off to another country without a word? The minute after I tell you I love you?”

He stares at her with something like horror, only now realizing the magnitude of his actions. His mouth opens and closes several times, but this time his muteness isn’t voluntary.

“Come on,” Alex says. She rights him in his boxer briefs and pulls up his slacks. “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.”

“But--”

Alex gives him a pointed look. “I’m still mad. What you did was a dick move. But now that I know _why_ you took off, I forgive you.”

Strand hesitates, even when Alex takes his hand and tries to tug him towards the stairs, toward his bedroom. 

“Richard?”

He nods, but doesn’t move.

“I forgive you,” she says, realizing he needs to hear it. “But if you’re that worried about it, if you still think you deserve to be punished, you can make it up to me later, okay? After we take care of you.”

Alex can see the doubt, the worry, and the exhaustion swirling in those blue, blue eyes. The last thing she needs is for him to crash. She brings his hand up to her mouth, kissing it with a tender brush of her lips. “Please?”

His eyes close at the contact. “Alright.”

“Good,” Alex says, smiling.

This time, he follows her willingly. Trailing silently behind her up the stairs. 

In his bedroom, Alex strips them both of their clothes. She washes his skin, then hers, with a warm, wet washcloth. She tucks him into bed, sliding naked beneath the covers beside him, holding him to her.

“I love you,” she says.

And this time, when she’s met with silence, it’s because his body has gone slack against her. It’s because his breathing has gone soft and even, tickling at her skin. 

Alex smiles and kisses his shoulder. She closes her eyes and breathes in his warm, familiar scent.

**Author's Note:**

> *Edited 10.04.17


End file.
